“I thought about what you would look like having an orgasm.”
— Sex, Lies & Videotape. Director: St ephen Soderbergh Sin I drag my finger around my collar of my shirt. Is it
hot in this room or what?
I stalk to the desk in my office, grab the glass of water and chug it down. My stomach churns. I swallow down the
bile that rises up, slap the glass back on the surface.
Why am I nervous? I don’t need to be nervous. This is me at my A game. I am the CEO of this company, the
fourth richest man in the country, a billionaire... Blah-bloody-blah.
I squeeze the bridge of my nose.
The last three days had been buggered to hell. I’d tried to bury myself in work, but every turn I took, every new
investment I’d tried to consider was held up by the fact that FOK media isn’t up and running yet. Yeah, I had
delayed its launch. I snort.
Me. CEO, shark of an investor, a businessman at the top of his game, had been met with closed doors... of my own
making. I’d sent her that letter with the divorce notice... The hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. For once, I had
parked my ego in a corner.
I know when I have to pretend to retreat so I can move in for the kill. Lure the prey into my lair, and then—I draw
in a breath—I’ll pounce. No... I’ll seduce her into my web, ensure she understands what I need from her. I’ll lay
the fucking world at her feet if she’ll allow me. As if.
I smirk.
The adamant pink-haired goddess won’t allow me to treat her as special. She wants to be my equal. Entreated me
to give up the thing I cherish most —my control. I’d opened my blasted world to her, revealed my regrets, told her
things I hadn’t shared with anyone else; I’d ripped out the darkness for her... Given her an insight into what made
me what I am. But had it been enough? I rock back on the balls of my feet. Hell, no.
She wanted more.
She wanted every last thing that I had hidden away and tried to forget.
She needs me to show, not tell. Bloody fucking hell.
That... is the hardest thing ever. And I am trying. Goddamn her sweet mouth, and her beautiful cunt that I
remember every second of my waking moments, her gorgeous lips and her sun-kissed limbs, her husky voice and
her alluring scent that clings to my pores and drives me insane until I can’t sle ep for fear that I’ll recollect every
single glance, moment, touch, kiss, regret... Fuck! I rub my chest.
She crawled under my skin, sank into my soul, and I hate it. And love it. She made me unrecognizable to myself,
and damn, if that isn’t the biggest welcome surprise ever. Is that why I am rooted in front of my desk, mumbling to
myself? Definitely turning into a pussywhipped loser. The last I checked, I have my balls, thank fuck.
A whine sounds at my feet. Max nudges his head against my thigh. I glance down and rub his sleek head. "You
miss her too, huh?"
He huffs, arches his neck. I lean down and rub under his ears. "You’ve been a good boy, always exiting the room
whenever she was around. I swear, sometimes I think you are human... No, better than them. You had a sixth
sense when it came to giving me my privacy with her. That ends now."
He stiffens, muscles quivering in that alert way whippets have. Where they are relaxed and tensed at the same
time.
Kind of like how I feel now, huh.
"You’re going to meet the woman... I... want. The one who is something special to me, Max. The one who’s
going to change the future... for both of us."
He slumps on his behind, whines again. "Exactly. I’ll do everything but beg... No, maybe even that. Okay,
maybe... if it comes to it... Fuck." I roll my shoulders, "I sound insane, huh? Talking to myself, like I am a kid
again."
I’d had to do it in that room, blindfolded. It was what had k ept me sane. Hearing my voice in my head, hearing the
others, communicating through claps and thumps. It had been the only way to communicate, since we’d been
gagged. But I am not that boy anymore. I’ve come a long way. I’ve taken revenge. My shoulders slump. Only it
hadn’t been half as satisfying as I’d hoped.
My landline buzzes. Adrenaline laces my blood. I scoop up the receiver, "Send her in."
There’s a pause. "You okay, Sinclair?" Meredith’s voice is soothing.
"I won’t be if you don’t send her in, in the next second—" "She’s on her way."
I draw in a breath. Stay calm, no need to panic now.
She’s only a girl... standing in front of me, asking me to bare my emotions for her. No pressure. And now I sound
like one of the movie trivia questions she loves to show
round. It’s fucking catching. She’s catching. Onto me. My failures. My pretensions. "Sorry, M."
"You better not let her go this time."
"Yeah." I chuckle. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I’m counting on it, boy, and when you get married this time around, for real, I—" There’s a knock on the door,
"Gotta go, M."
I drop the receiver so fast that it crashes and bounces onto the desk. I grab it, balance it properly in its cradle. I can
do this. I’ve stared down bigger negotiators, more lethal ones, none of whom had large green eyes, breasts that
were an exact fit for my palms, and her lips, those lips.
That crease at the bottom that is sure to drive me insane, if I let it. You’ve got this, Sinner.
I swivel around, lean against the desk. Drum my fingers on the surface. No, that won’t do. I prop my hands on my
hips.
The knock sounds again.
"The door’s fucking open. What do you expect, a red- carpet invitation?”